I Loved Her First
by The Bard's Daughter
Summary: For the first time in his life, he wished he'd been the last.
1. The Place He Wasn't Supposed To Be

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**I hope you enjoy the story!**

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><p>He shivered as a shaft of late afternoon sun, tinted blue by the stained glass, touched the black silken wool of his dress robes. Averting his eyes from the glares of the saints and martyrs encased in the windows, he slipped into the back row of pews and settled onto the unpadded ancient oak. He didn't need any St. George or Andrew or David telling him what he already knew. He wasn't supposed to be here. Didn't have the golden ticket for entrance disguised as the ivory card stock and black ink calligraphied invitation.<p>

Shifting slightly so the light wouldn't touch any part of his person, he tried to ignore the swell of discomfort knotting in his stomach. Leave it to the bride and groom to combine both muggle and magical in the ceremony binding them for eternity. Though why they chose Hogwarts' chapel over the Great Hall or some romantic spot by the lake was beyond him. He might blame the choice on her parents but he knew their faith lay in pearly white teeth and pink gums. Bloody hell! Could the rumors of some kind of conversion on the part of the groom following Vol...the Dark...He Who He Still Could Not Name's final destruction be more than the load of bollocks he thought they were? Merlin knew the bride would do anything for this man who captured her heart sometime in the two years since the final battle.

Anger surged and he curled his fingers into tight fists. He wasn't here to make a scene or try to stop this marriage. Why should he? They'd all made their choices...regretted or not. He merely wanted to see the mysterious attraction his friends and family seemed to think had always existed between the Gryffindor princess and the unsung hero. Perhaps then he could understand why. Why that git was lucky enough to gain her love and he wasn't.

_Damn it all! I loved her first._

With an almost physical shove, he moved the thought deeper into his mind. He couldn't risk it lingering too near the surface. Combined with his temper, such things could easily break his resolve to not only remain unseen but unheard.

Deciding the best defense was distraction, he focused on a visual exploration of the one building he'd avoided entering during his time at Hogwarts. Aside from the stained glass windows depicting what had to be New Testament scenes if the snatches of conversation he overheard from some guests seated near him were to be believed, there were other things that separated this place from the inside of the castle. Instead of the gray stone, the walls were dark ornately carved wood panels, polished and gleaming like mirrors in the combined light of sunset and the thousand flickering candles lining the white marble high altar and placed in scones and candelabras around the sanctuary. It was peace in the flesh. Or would have been if he were comfortable with traditional religions.

While he was no expert on 10th century architecture...or anything else for that matter, he would have a hard time believing it could have been more impressive if he'd have seen it in its pre-war state. McGonagall and the others had certainly done an outstanding job on its renovations.

_Of course they did. After all, it was what the groom wanted. And whatever the git wanted, he got. His bride was proof of that._

It was a struggle to remove the sneer and an absolute brawl to swallow the bitter bile of anger this time. Yet he managed. And by Merlin he would continue to manage. Just like he had since the day she told him...

His eyes burned when he closed his lids over them. He didn't want to remember. Remembering made this more real. His tentative hold on his emotions wouldn't withstand the onslaught. Not today. Clenching his fists until his fingernails threatened to permanently fuse to his palms, he breathed in slowly. In the nose, out the mouth in silent puffs until his lungs tingled with the mingled scent of Parisian colognes and flowers.

Slowly, he opened his eyes again and searched for something else to divert his attention. The decorations, perhaps. Green, silver, red and gold banners hung from the rafters and swayed gently as if touched by a breeze. Ribbons in the same colors curled around the bases of the candlesticks, graced the ends of the pews in billowing bows and tethered the bunches of amaranth and asters scattered around the chapel. He frowned and studied the arrangements along the chancel rail. Lily of the Valley, delphinium, gorse, blooms and greenery he didn't recognize but if he were one to wager would bet they carried the same meanings. Returning happiness. The ability to transcend the bonds of time and space. Love in all seasons. All the things she should have had with him, damn it.

Bloody hell. He couldn't do this. He couldn't be here. He shouldn't be here. He would only cause a scene and ruin any chance of salvaging the friendship they once had. He had to go. Now.

He was almost on his feet when the organ's pipes swelled with Pachelbel's Canon. The one he knew she'd wanted played on her wedding day since she was a little girl dreaming of Cinderella's marriage to the prince. They'd talked about it one time. In a field tossed tent while Harry Potter hunted Horcruxes and the future seemed closer than any of them ever thought possible. And he knew she was already lost to him. Her head already consumed by the man in finely tailored dress robes making his way with his best man and groomsmen to the altar.

_I loved her first. Dear Merlin, I loved her first. So why is that git... _

The notes seemed to form a hand as they moved closer to him and gently pushed him back onto the pew. For the chance to answer why he'd stay. Stay seated. Stay quiet. Stay in his place. The place he wasn't supposed to be.

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	2. I Should Have Been Him

**Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story just as much.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Just take them out and play with them for a little while then return them relatively unharmed.**

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><p>CHAPTER TWO<p>

It Should Have Been Him

One blonde. Two gingers. Two obsidians. All dressed in the finest tailored robes money could buy. The only difference was the groom's white tie and waistcoat to the others' emerald. Each held themselves wand straight and walked to the white marble altar with the dignity each had gained in the waning days of the war despite a slight limp or two. McGonagall and Hufflepuff alum Wayne Hopkins, the headmistress' tartan plaid a perfect compliment to the brocade of the good reverend's garb, moved to the center of dais as the group approached. He was certain the former Transfigurations professor's face would split in two as she beamed at the groom, delight visible in her blue eyes when she winked conspiratorially at the best man and groomsmen.

_So she was in on it too. _

His stomach churned as flashes of the past revealed warnings seen only in hindsight. As they flickered through his mind, time seemed to still. The air chilled and he swore he could see the movement of air as the wedding party and assembled guests breathed. Had the Dementors escaped the bounds of Azkaban again? Then the stench of lavender and orange blossoms filled his nose. Just like it did that night by the lake. The night he finally recognized the icy fragrance as the aroma of betrayal.

_She slipped her hand from his, her chin quivering and tears filling the depths of her brown eyes. "I'm so sorry." She stood and started backing away toward the figure hidden by the shadows of the Forbidden Forrest. "I'm am so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. But he has my heart...my very soul. And I can't - "_

_"Ask for it back," he pleaded, slipping off the rock and to his knees. It wasn't a reasonable request and he knew it. But from the minute he suspected her feelings for him had shifted toward nothing more intimate than friendship, he was beyond reason. "Demand he give them back to you. Make him release you."_

_Though her reply was hardly more than a whisper, the chilly distance in her eyes voiced her true feelings loud and clear. "I don't want him to." _

_Moving with the speed of fog rolling in from the coast, she turned and scampered toward the man who wore the shadows like a cloak. When she reached him, he gathered her into his arms. Cradled her to his chest for a moment then stepped away just far enough to lead her back toward the welcoming lights of the castle. In that moment there was no doubt she was lost to any other man on the planet. Including the one who loved her first._

_He had no choice but to watch them disappear, the ruby and gold ring still clutched between his fingers. Once they disappeared from sight, he struggled to his feet, his body aching like an old man's. The scent of lavender and orange blossoms lingering in the air was a punch to the gut and bent him double. Threatened to send him to his knees until the force of his anger empowered them. Straightened his back and sent his other hand into his pocket for his wand._

_How dare he take her from him. He gritted his teeth and refused to relieve the burning in his eyes by allowing the tears to escape. How dare she allow herself to be taken. He clenched the ring in his hand until the prongs bit into his palm. _

_Snippets of conversation he'd had with friends and family over the last year echoed in his mind. Don't waste too much time. She won't wait forever. It's a fine line between friendship forged from compassion and love allowed to bloom. Perfect matches often start out in opposite houses. He hadn't listened to any of them. He chose the freedom afforded every witch and wizard after the defeat of Voldemort and basked in the accolades offered to the heroes of the war. Damn them all for not forcing him to hear what they were saying. _

The squeak of hinges pulled him from the memory. Bile, acidic and bitter, rose in the back of his throat. It should be him waiting at the front of the chapel as the back doors opened wide enough for the bride's attendants to enter. It should be him receiving the good-natured ribbing from his friends as he stuck to tradition and didn't turn to watch their female counterparts enter despite rising curiosity.

It should be him, damn it. Bloody hell, if for no other reason than he loved her first, it should be him.


	3. Still

**A/N:** _Thank you all for reading. The reviews are most helpful and an absolute delight to receive. I hope you continue to enjoy this little tale._

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><p>CHAPTER THREE<p>

Still

And it would have been him if he hadn't insisted he'd had enough of school. Chose the adventure of Auror training over returning to Hogwarts. Then again, perhaps he would have lost her regardless of those choices. In all honesty, he'd felt her slipping away long before she refused to leave the bastard's bedside. Felt it in the Forest of Dean and at Malfoy Manor. Yet somehow he always hoped...

The swish of silk tore through his thoughts. He turned in unison with the others and watched the procession of maidens in ceremonial regalia.

Like walking tapestries woven in the finest silks the bridesmaids moved into view. In perfect step, crimson followed gold then silver followed green up the aisle; the shuffle-slide performed with the precision expected of the Beauxbatons alumnae leading the others. They all but floated toward their places, shy blushes mixing with bright smiles as they exchanged silent greetings with their matching halves already lining the dais' steps.

At one time, he'd been part of the gathering. The first to offer his support when his brothers in blood and arms hesitantly embraced the possibilities of finding the missing halves of their souls. The first to offer congratulations when their offers of forever were accepted with teary eyes and opened mouth kisses. And the last to recognize the shift in loyalty when it came his time to go down on bended knee.

Blinking, he lifted his eyes to the colorful rose window set into the back wall of the chancel, the bright shards of glass contrasting the dark wood around it. He simply couldn't look at them anymore - these people he once counted as friends. As confidants. As family.

_Family_. He didn't have to shift his eyes to the filled pews to know they were among the guests. Most likely seated in some place of honor. Standing in for the groom's parents. Supporting the blasted man as surely as the ones standing on either side of the white linen aisle runner. Being happy for the couple like they asked him to be.

Anger surged on the wave of remembered genuine smiles of delight they offered the night the engagement was announced then celebrated. An impromptu party he couldn't escape and desperately wanted to end. Preferably with the bloody traitors' deaths.

_He sat nursing a glass of Ogden's and reflecting on recent and not so recent events. With everyone at the annual Halloween celebration, it was actually quiet enough to hear his own thoughts. Swirling the amber liquid, he watched the fire dance along the logs in the fireplace and tried to enjoy the solitude without begrudging the rest for leaving him behind._

_Oh, he could have gone. Perhaps even been the life of the party before spotting the lass who would provide him with entertainment until dawn replaced candlelight. But he couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk that they would decide to abandon the party in the Great Hall for the more mature company. Though, if McGonagall hadn't changed things too much since her appointment as headmistress, the dance after the younger students toddled off to bed could easily offer quite the snog-fest. Something he was sure they would enjoy even more than the adult festivities held elsewhere. _

_Downing the rest of his firewhisky in a single gulp, he burned away the resentment before it managed a good head. It had been six months since she left him standing beside the lake with the ring in his hand. Five since he could stand to be in the same room with them. Four since he could call her a friend again. Three since he'd found some common ground with the bloody bastard who seemingly held claim to her heart. Two since he was comfortable enough to let them know of his conquests and receive their good-natured ribbing in return on those rare occasions that found them tossed together in the same room. But for the most part, he tried to avoid them both; afraid of the feelings seeing her with someone else might stir._

_He guessed that still constituted moving on. Especially since he felt the prickly beginnings of a possible forever with a mutual acquaintance. Perhaps he should just give in and call up the bubbly blonde. Risk running into them. After all, it really shouldn't still bother him with all the time that'd past. Not with the understanding he'd gained through the lengthy discussions on schoolboy crushes and first loves he'd had with his eldest brother and his parents. Painful as it might be to admit, friendship was a much better outcome for the two of them. And being friends meant accepting what made the other happy, right?_

_The sudden shift of flame from orange to green nearly made him bolt off the sofa. Someone was coming. He glanced at his watch, frowned then reached for his wand. Unless his father had hit the pumpkin juice a little too hard, it wouldn't be his family. Not at this time of night and with so many people to catch up with. Gripping the hilt, he willed whoever activated the floo to show himself._

_As if by his command, they stepped onto the hearth. Even covered in soot and ash, she looked radiant standing beside the dark-haired wizard. Her left hand nestled in the crook of his arm, her fingers barely visible behind the black fabric of his robes. _

_He blinked, wondering for a moment if he'd had more to drink than he realized. It wasn't like either of them to show up unless explicitly invited. Besides, they were supposed to be at Hogwarts, weren't they? "Wh-what are you doing here?"_

_She smiled and slipped her arm from beneath her beau's. "We thought it only fair to tell you in person. Before you heard it from someone else."_

_He tried to ignore the sparkle on her left ring finger. Tried to quell the churning in his middle that told him ignoring wouldn't help. "Tell me what?"_

The creak of pews thankfully forced the memory to retreat. He rose with the others, standing out of respect just as he had that night. Standing because he didn't want to be singled out. Standing because despite it all, he still loved her. Still wanted her to be happy. Still wanted to be part of her life. Even if it was a green diamond wrapped in platinum that she now wore.


	4. Shattered

**A/N:** _Please forgive the short chapter. This was simply the best place to break the flow of the story. I hope you continue to enjoy!_

__**Disclaimer:**_ Still don't own 'em._

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><p>CHAPTER FOUR<p>

Shattered

Dressed in robes as white as freshly fallen snow, the edges of the belled sleeves and cathedral train edged in red then gold, silver then green, she entered the sanctuary, her hand resting in the crook of her father's arm. Although shielded by a veil soft as mist, there was no mistaking the glow of utter and complete happiness in her smile as she stared straight ahead, seemingly intent on the man waiting for her at the altar. By Merlin, she was beautiful.

_I loved her first._

He could all but feel his lips pushing into a childish pout. Pressing them into a tight, thin line, he shifted his gaze to the front of the chapel. His chest tightened as the groomsmen and best man's eyes filled with awed admiration. He could almost hear the admonitions delivered to the groom.

'Wait till you see her, mate.'

'Better breathe now, Godfather for you surely won't when you see her.'

'Even Fleur can't hold a candle to her today.'

'I always thought she was some kind of angel, what with the way she always seemed to have just what we needed when we needed it. Now I have no doubt. You are one lucky man, my friend.'

To his credit, the groom never flinched. Never showed any outward sign of growing curiosity. Never so much as twitched in the direction of the bride and her father as they approached. Even he had to admit a grudging admiration for the man's tenacity. If it were him in the git's place, he would have long ago tossed tradition to the wind and turned for at least a glimpse at the woman about to become his wife. But he wasn't that man.

And she wasn't his bride. He swallowed his sigh and forced himself to maintain an unblinking gaze on the couple now just feet apart. He needed to see if the war hero allowed any emotion to peek through his usually placid demeanor. Would he see a spark of love in those dark eyes? A touch of devotion curling his lips? Or tenderness in his touch when the bride's hand was transferred to his?

Part of him didn't want to see anything more than the contempt so often directed at both student and peer alike. But another part - the one that briefly made him wonder if he would be sorted into Hufflepuff once that silly hat was places on his head - hoped to glimpse something that told him this man would treasure her. Would make her happy. Loved her like he obviously couldn't.

The bride and her father were almost to the groom.

He held his breath.

Waited.

Prayed, though he wasn't sure what or whom he was praying to or for.

Then shattered.


	5. When Last Is Better Than First

CHAPTER FIVE

When Last Is Better Than First

Awe shimmered in obsidian depths. Mingled with love and devotion until they could no longer contain their joy. It spilled onto his lips, curling them into a gentle smile. His hand twitched toward hers then relaxed at his side, patience once again allowing tradition to reign. She wasn't his to hold yet. But that didn't stop the silent possession of his gaze. One that was reciprocated and strengthened within the honey brown of the bride's.

She was this man's most cherished treasure. And he was hers.

Relief flooded him, momentarily drenching the jealousy. She would be protected. She would be happy. She would never want for anything that was in this man's power to give. Even someone with no sight could recognize the forever pledged long before the bride reached the altar.

_It should be me offering her this_.

And it could have been if he didn't keep his heart hidden. If he let the world know his emotions ran deeper than the bowl of a teaspoon. But he couldn't. Because if he did, he was sure the Burrow would be flooded before he could stem his grief or stop the self-loathing from devouring him from inside.

Memories he kept locked inside the unfeeling part of his brain slammed against the cell door and almost managed to breach the lock. Recollections of unforgiveables sent from his wand. Of watching his comrades fall - some in silence, some with screams of agony that still echoed in his dreams. To give her what she wanted. What she deserved. What the bloody git surprisingly seemed to offer without hesitation, he would have to open himself up to a pain he wasn't sure he could survive. A pain that made watching her marry the Slytherin bastard no worse than some stinging hex delivered by a near-squib First Year.

His stomach undulated and clinched as he finally admitted what his heart knew all along. They were never meant to be.

If it weren't for the part of him that made the Sorting Hat proclaim him a Gryffindor, he would have fled. Dashed from the pew and out the now closed back doors of the chapel without regard for the disruption the creaks of hinges might cause. Yet his damnable courage kept him rooted to his spot, standing with the rest of the congregation as they waited for either Professor McGonagall or the good Reverend Hopkins to allow them to take their seats.

"Dear friends." McGonagall's brogue filled the chapel with the same demand for respectful attention as her predecessor. "We are here today, in this hallowed place where magical and mystical mingle as the Creator of both intended, to bear witness to the joining of two lives. Of the uniting of the missing halves of two souls." Tears of joy and pride glistened behind the square glasses perched on the end of her nose as she shifted her gaze to the couple in front of her. "It is my honor and privilege, along with Reverend Hopkins, to preside over this union."

There was a softness to the headmistress' tone. One he was sure she rarely used with anyone beyond those closest confidants. Something he could have been privy to if he'd only listened. Only relinquished his childish beliefs and embraced the maturity offered by surviving the greatest war in wizarding history.

"Never has there been a love such as the one shared by the two joining their lives here today." The former Head of Gryffindor House smiled warmly at the bride and groom, her tears falling unashamedly down her cheeks. "A mature love. Forged in war. Strengthened by the aftermaths. Prayed for by friends and family in equal measure as the healing for the beloved comrade and hero who would indeed lay claim to his healer's heart and she to his. And today that love will find completion as they are bonded for eternity."

_But I loved her first._

The thought, childish as it was, simply would not completely relinquish its hold on his brain. Wouldn't allow the happiness of the occasion infuse and, perhaps, heal the fissure in his heart.

"The love they now share. The love that will continue to grow as they live the life ordained for them before the beginning of time."

He fidgeted at the sound of Hufflepuff Hopkins' voice. He wasn't comfortable with all things religious. Not that he thought he would burst into flames when his magic met the spiritual. He knew too many witches and wizards who held fast to the faith shared by both worlds to think those myths true. He simply didn't like the way the words found in the ancient text prickled his conscience.

"Is the rarest kind of treasure. It is beyond categorization for it encompasses every definition. Every emotion. It is, in fact, the only kind of love that may well and truly count. It is the last love. And a lasting love."

Jealousy spurred his hand to his pocket, his fingers wrapping tightly around the hilt of his wand. He'd heard enough of this. What did this bloody fool know of love? What right did he have to claim last love was more important than first? How could that bloody git waiting to join his life with hers possibly know what love in any form was? After all he...wasn't him.

His chin quivered. He wasn't him. He wasn't him and never would be. He sank onto the pew, no longer caring that everyone else was still on their feet. After years of wishing he was first. The firstborn son instead of the sixth. The first to rush headlong into battle instead of tagging along third in line. The first to claim a woman...something he wasn't sure he would ever achieve now that the virginal Princess of Gryffindor would soon belong to another. For the first time in his life, he wished with every fiber of his being he could be last.


	6. Speak Now

**A/N:** _Thank you all so much for taking the time to read. The reviews have been wonderful and quite inspiring to keep the pen moving. _

_If you are enjoying this story, I hope you check out my other HG/SS story - Vanity, They Name Is Death. _

__**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing._

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><p>CHAPTER SIX<p>

Speak Now

The first ripples of panic touched his heart, accelerating its rhythm. Then to his lungs, compressing them until suffocation was likely. If he stayed, he would surley do something he would regret. He started to stand again, muttering a revealing spell to check for wards on the chapel doors. The wood lightened imperceptibly and he groaned. While he could escape, he risked exposing the private celebration to the uninvited probably lining the walk from the castle. She didn't deserve that. And neither did the man beside her.

Given everything he'd encountered and survived during the hunt for the Horcruxes then the final battle, swallowing the fear was easy. He only hoped he could maintain control until this was all over. Perhaps if he closed his eyes and concentrated...

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the presence of God..."

His eyes flew open. The preamble was over and the main event begun. Another wave of nausea crested near his throat. In a few minutes, any chance of recapturing what he thought they once had would be gone. All it would take would be a few well placed words. Perhaps a hex or two to keep the groom and his attendants at bay while he fled the scene with her. Once she was out from under the man's influence she would come around. She had to come around. Because if she didn't -

"It is therefore, not to be entered into unadvisedly, but reverently, discreetly, and in the fear of God."

Perhaps it wouldn't come to that. He uncurled his fingers from his wand and held his breath. After all, she feared God. That bloody dungeon bat did as well. There was no way either of them would risk...or would they? After all, they'd kept up the masquerade for nearly six months now. Longer if one counted the nine months they were together before the engagement was announced.

_Isn't that a bit long to keep up appearances if the feelings aren't genuine?_

He'd never hated the rational part of his brain more than in that moment. It cleared his perceptions. Squashed the rising tide of confidence while it was nothing more than a ripple. Made him believe he had lost his chance.

_You have, my friend._

"Shut up," he hissed, relieved the whispered outburst came as the rest of the congregation returned to their seats. The creak of ancient wood easily covered the nearly non-existent sound. The last thing he wanted to do was bring attention to himself. At least until he had to. Hopefully by then -

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

Don't do it, he begged. Don't agree to this. Can't you see -

"Her mother and I."

A groan crept toward his throat as the bride's father placed her hand in the groom's. The air sizzled with magic as her fingers touched his palm, a faint glow enveloping their hands in a way he thought only possible in the legends of true love.

He bit the inside of his cheek, a familiar metallic taste invading his senses. Shocking him back to reality. This wedding was going to happen. She was really going to marry the man. Not to get back at him for being an immature jerk when they were together. Not because she thought she owed the man for keeping them safe during Voldemort's reign. And not because she was under the influence of some dark potion or curse. She was marrying him because she loved him. It was as simple as that. He could either accept it or he could cause a scene and -

"I charge you both, as you stand in God's presence, to remember that love and loyalty alone will serve as the foundations of a happy and enduring home. If the solemn vows which you are about to make are kept permanently, and if you steadfastly seek..."

It was now are never. He needed to choose. Interrupt the good reverend. Put a stop to the ceremony on the slimmest of chances that she might give him an opportunity to prove he wasn't the jealous git she thought him to be and risk alienating some of the most powerful wizards of the day. Or stay silent. Hope he could at least remain her friend.

_Speak now, you fool. Speak now._

The words lined up on his tongue.

His lips parted.

He felt the first vibration in his throat.

"I -"


	7. Forever Holding His Peace

CHAPTER SEVEN

Forever Holding His Peace

"Severus Tobias Snape."

He sighed and shrank back into the corner of the pew. Gratefulness chased disappointment through his veins. They hadn't heard him. Or perhaps the sound hadn't actually escaped his throat like he thought. Or did they simply ignore it as some wayward noise from somewhere beyond the darkening stained glass? No matter. What was done was done. And there would be no other attempt.

"Will you have this Woman to your wedded Wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep only unto her, so long as you both shall live?"

The same silky baritone that exuded confidence in the Potions classroom echoed through the chapel. "I do."

_He bloody well better. _He released his wand and returned his hands to his lap, keeping them closed in tight fists. _He bloody well better._

"Hermione Jean Granger. "Will you have this Man to your wedded Husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep only unto him, so long as you both shall live?"

He leaned forward, silently urging her to admit what he'd tried to wrangle from her lips as recently as last evening.

_Although he'd snuck into The Burrow on countless occasions, this was the first time he felt like a thief. And perhaps he was. After all, he was trying to steal another man's bride. No. Not steal. Merely reclaim what should rightfully be his. _

_He started up the stairs, easily avoiding the ones that creaked. Would she be with Ginny in the pink and purple monstrosity his sister hated almost as much as he did? Or would Mum have insisted she needed the peace and quiet of Percy's room now that the prodigal son had returned to his flat in London? With Angelina and Astoria assigned to his old room for the duration of the weekend and Harry, Draco and Charlie bunking in with George so Bill and Fleur could have the privacy the recently married deserved, it was the only two options available. But which would it be? The left hand room on the second floor or the right hand room on the third?_

_Perhaps he should have paid more attention in Divinations after all. Drawing a deep but silent breath, he closed his eyes and pulled on every logical cell in his body for the answer. As confidence built, he slowly headed to the usually unoccupied room one flight higher._

_His pulse thrummed in his ears, making it next to impossible to discern any noise from the other side of the door. Palms dripping, he hastily wiped them on his jeans then reached for the chilly knob. Wishing on Merlin's beard, he leaned his shoulder against the door, turned the brass handle and pushed with slow, even pressure like Fred had shown him the first time he and George had taken him on one of their midnight outings. _

_There was no doubt luck was on his side when the door swung inward without even a hint of creaking. A silvery moonbeam spilled through the small slit in the burgundy and gold curtains and fell on golden brown curls. For the first time in weeks, his lips curled into a genuine smile. He'd chosen wisely._

_"Hermione?" He startled slightly at the way his voice cracked in the silence. Swallowing, he tried again. "Hermione, wake up."_

_She stirred beneath the muggle-style quilt Grandmother Prewett gave his parents once her anger over their elopement gave way to happiness over the birth of the first grandchild. He held his breath and crossed the room. Waited until he could almost touch her. "Hermione."_

_Groaning, she turned over then opened her eyes. Bleary honey brown widened in fear then narrowed in anger as she scrambled toward the other side of the bed away from him. "Ron!" She grabbed the sheets and tucked them tightly beneath her chin as she pressed her back against the headboard. "What are you doing here?"_

_He smiled and moved forward until he could lower himself to the edge of the mattress. "Come away with me, Mione." He reached for her hand and tried to ignore the sting of embarrassment when she jerked hers away before he could curl his fingers around it. _

_"Have you completely lost your mind, Ronald?" She looked at him as if he were some blast-ended skwert. "I'm getting married tomorrow."_

_"But you don't have to, Hermione. Can't you see that?" Irrational thoughts started to creep in. He closed his eyes and tried to force them away. After all, he needed as many rational vibes as he could muster if he wanted to sway the Gryffindor Princess. "I can give you anything you want. Anything that bloody dungeon bat -"_

_"His name is Severus." Fire flashed in her brown eyes. "And no, Ronald Weasley, you can't. You would never be able to give me what I already have with him. No one can. Now get out." _

_"Hermione -" _

_Before the syllables finished forming, he had the tips of four wands against his throat. "You heard the lady, Weasleby." Draco's voice chilled as much as his gray-blue gaze. "Get out. Now."_

_Anger surged and forced all reason to retreat. "Now listen here, Malfoy. You can't tell me what to do in my own family's house." _

_"No, but I can, little brother." Bill added a firm grip to his shoulder as the others chosen to be groomsmen pressed their wands a little more firmly against his Adam's apple. "Leave, Ron. Before you wake Mum and Dad and bring holy hell down on us all."_

"I do."

Hermione's confident reply crashed him back to the present.

To the here and now.

To where he would be forever holding his peace.


	8. The Sting Of Salt

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Sting Of Salt

"Severus." McGonagall's lips twitched into a smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief as her gaze encompassed the newlyweds. "You may kiss your bride."

The defeat that swirled in the pit of his stomach when Snape slid the plain platinum band onto Hermione's left ring finger rose to the back of his throat when Hermione placed its mate on that bloody git's hand. Now it coated his tongue, the taste bitter and acidic.

He wanted to look away the moment the Potions Master touched her chin and gently tilted her face upward, urging her closer. Wanted to forget the tender smile on the man's lips and the utter devotion glistening in Hermione's eyes as she focused on the near-midnight ones of her new life mate. Wanted to ignore the way time seemed to still around them, as each became the center of the other's world. But like the other guests, he was simply too mesmerized.

Their lips brushed.

Bumped.

Fused.

The urge to retch was tamped down by the quickness with which the couple broke contact. Yet no one would ever doubt the intimacy they witnessed in its briefness. Nor would one dispute the silent 'I love yous' painted on the couple's smiles. Or the loving way the former death eater brushed away his bride's tears and she brushed away his.

"It is my great pleasure and absolute honor to present for the first time."

Despite his sadness, Ron couldn't help but chuckle at Reverend Hopkins' well-timed dramatic pause. Perhaps the Hufflepuff alum should have pursued a career in the theatre instead of a vocation behind the pulpit.

"Mr. and Mrs. Severus Snape."

The cheers rivaled any Quidditch stadium when packed to capacity. He had to resist the urge to cover his ears. And though he doubted he would ever feel anything but contempt for the man who had stolen his happiness, he couldn't begrudge him this. If for no other reason than he survived the unsurvivable and came out a far better man than Ron could ever hope to be.

A chorus of trumpets along with the swell of pipes from some unseen massive organ emitted the first energizing notes of the familiar voluntary first calming the crowd then bringing them to their feet. The couple turned and started down the aisle, their mouths spread in genuinely happy smiles. Halfway down the runner, they slowed and glanced over their shoulders, the wattage of their grins ramping up for the loyal friends still standing at the altar.

An overwhelming surge of loneliness sent Ron nearly crashing back to his seat on the back pew. If it hadn't been for his bloody stubbornness, he could have been one. They'd asked. His parents had begged. His friends had cajoled. But he held fast to his convictions. And now...

He shook the thought away and forced his focus back to the attendants pairing up to follow the newlyweds from the chapel. It was over. He'd witnessed for himself just how real what they had was. Had proved to him that he could never be what Hermione deserved while Snape could. Once the groomsmen and bridesmaids made it up the aisle, he would slip away. And never have to see any of them again.

Hoping no one would notice him squashed into the corner of the bench, he tried his best to avoid making eye contact as they walked past beaming like blooming idiots.

Fleur and Bill.

Then George and Angelina.

Then Draco and Astoria.

Finally, Harry and Ginny.

_They'll be next_. He smirked as the dark haired defender of the wizarding world and his only sister's smiles softened as they exchanged glances during the recessional. If Hermione and Snape stuck to the traditions of both muggle and wizard, it would almost be worth risking discovery to stay. To watch as the garter and bridal bouquet were thrown. Would the Potions Master aim for the best man? Would the newest Transfigurations Mistress chuck the bundle of roses, lily of the valley and baby's breath at the maid of honor? Would they act embarrassed? Leapfrog over the other singles to grab the items in midair?

Perhaps he could manage to stay secluded at the reception just long enough to bear witness to the possible hijinks. After all, the tables were set up on the large grassy lawn near the lake, part of the grass transfigured into rich, dark parquet for dancing. It would be quite easy to -

"Ronald!"

He groaned. There was no mistaking Molly Weasley's squawk. There would be no escaping or secluding now. For once Mum had you in her sights...

"You came!" She grabbed him an embrace so tight he was sure his ribs would be bruised, if not cracked. "Hermione and Severus will be so pleased."

Though he highly doubted that, there was no point arguing the toss with her. The best he could hope for was to escape before she hauled him to the front of the receiving line. "Maybe we shouldn't tell 'em I'm here, Mum. After all, I wasn't exactly invited now was I."

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, his large, always gentle hand offering a reassuring squeeze. "Only because they didn't want to - What's that muggle saying again?" He glanced at his wife for inspiration. Ron knew by the familiar finger snap near his ear when the penny dropped. "Rub salt in an open wound. That's it." He grinned for a moment then turned serious. "They didn't want to rub salt in an open wound, son." He sighed then offered a sad smile. "But they will be overjoyed to see that you've finally come round."

But he hadn't come round. Not really. But he couldn't explain that to his parents. Not when they looked at him with such pride. It had been a long time since their buttons threatened to burst because of him. He couldn't disappoint them again. At least not here. Not now.

So he would stay. He would join the party. Perhaps dance with Astoria just to get Draco's dander up a bit. Enjoy the free food and drinks - though he was pretty sure the strongest thing they'd have was spiced pumpkin cider. Congratulate the bride and groom. Laugh at the goo-goo eyes Harry and Ginny made at each other. By Merlin's beard, he would stay.

Even if the salt did sting.


	9. To Drink Or Not To Drink

**A/N: **_Again, all my thanks for reading and reviewing._

__**Disclaimer: **_Still don't own 'em._

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><p>CHAPTER NINE<p>

To Drink Or Not To Drink

Ron shuffled along behind his parents and older brother toward the large marquee erected near the sloping banks of the lake. His spirits lifted slightly when he caught sight of the silver trays laden with crystal goblets floating around the assembled guests. The liquid inside was simply too clear to be pumpkin cider and too bubbly to be anything as mundane as muggle apple juice.

Perhaps, given the joyousness of the festivities, the teetotaling Hermione had relented and allowed alcohol to be served. And while an open bar would be preferable to the takes more than three glasses to get even the slightest buzz champagne, the golden liquid was better than none at all. He licked his lips. Anticipation thrummed in his veins and urged him to pick up speed. If he started now, with a little luck, he could be well on his way to plastered by the time the bride, groom and the other members of the wedding party emerged from the requisite photography session in and around the chapel and grounds. And given the number of friends his parents and Charlie would want to catch up with, there was little fear of them taking notice until he was too far-gone to care.

Too far gone to care. So entirely inebriated, the entire world looked like the inside of an Ogden's Old Firewhisky bottle. That would be the only bloody way to survive his stay in hell.

Remembering the floating trays weren't actually floating but carried by disillusioned house elves, he made sure to keep his long feet outside the circle of the silver discs as he reached for his first glass. The last thing anyone wanted to do was trip up an elf. Such a disaster would not only upset a perfectly good selection of the effervescent wine, it might well cause you to be ignored for the rest of the night. Chasing down the required refreshment would most definitely be counterproductive to the effect he was trying to obtain.

Holding the goblet as if it were something to treasure, Ron lifted the glass to the fading rays of sunlight. His taste buds tingled in expectancy as the tiny bubbles connected with the crystal, producing a prism's rainbow in the pale gold elixir. A sigh raced towards his lips then sputtered inches from escape when he noted the etched letters on the surface of the flute - S intertwined with H.

It was almost enough to put him off the stuff. But only almost. Lifting the glass to his lips, he closed his eyes and waited for the drink to explode on his tongue then slide down his throat with a delightful slow burn.

Ron almost groaned when the liquid slipped past his lips. It was exotic. Exquisite. Ex-

The swift change from tangy to sweet pummeled his mouth. Wrinkled his nose and puckered his lips until he had no choice but to dispel it. Without regard to who or what might be watching, he spat it into the grass at his feet then wiped the rest of the offending juice from his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. So much for the dignified auror image he tried so hard to maintain. "What is this stuff?"

"Champagne for those of age and not prone to abuse it." The masculine squeak could only belong to one of Hogwarts esteemed servants. "Sparkling grape juice for all others."

The silver tray squirted off to another group before Ron could deposit the offensive glass of sparkling muggle drink on it. Bloody hell. Leave it to Hermione and the twit she'd just married herself off to to pull a stunt like that. Charming the wine to identify the underage was one thing. Especially since the whole school appeared to be invited to the reception in place of the annual leaving feast. But to hex it for those legally allowed to imbibe based on intent alone? Why that was downright unwizardly.

When a quick sweep of the area showed a still absent wedding party and his family ten meters away talking with Minister Shacklebolt, he pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the partially filled goblet. He began the incantation, speaking softly but precisely. "Aufero ex is suus veneficus vox. Restituo..."

An almost audible pop was the only warning before the memory appeared in the forefront of his brain. The image of Seamus Finnegan's scorched eyebrows and smut covered nose ended the spell to disenchant the wine in mid-syllable. With an angry grunt, he slipped his wand back into his pocket. He'd either stick with water; quickly learn to enjoy the sweet muggle substitute or die of dehydration once the meal began.

Damn them both, he thought as he lifted the glass to his lips again, taking only a minuscule sip this time. How the hell was he supposed to survive the evening now?

_Probably better than you would have if sloshed_.

Of all the things he'd gained during the time spent with Hermione and Harry while they searched for the Horcruxes, the voice of reason was the one he resented most. Once again, there was no doubting its correctness. He was much more likely to escape unscathed if he was in possession of all his faculties. Especially since he tended to really go off his head when under the influence and became even more likely to hurl hexes first and think second. And between Harry and Snape, he was certain to come out on the short end of the stick.

"Canapé, sir?"

Startled by the sudden burst of speech so near his kneecaps, Ron almost stumbled into the hovering tray of appetizers. "Uh." His face heated. Merlin how he hated the way his emotions showed on his face. "Sure." Picking something vaguely familiar from the options lining the silver square, he nodded at the unseen server. "Thanks."

Backing away, he popped the morsel into his mouth. The savory filling exploded with promise against his tongue. Cautious of any sudden changes in taste or texture, he chewed slowly. Contentment pushed a smile to his lips. Perhaps he could drown his sorrow with gluttony. While it might make his movements sluggish, he certainly wouldn't be as likely to jinx the groom and run off with the bride if he was more concerned with the tightness of his belt. Maybe he would survive -

"Ladies and gentleman. The bride and groom."

Headless Nick's voice carried across the lawn. Ron turned his attention to the Gryffindor ghost and the group just topping the small rise from the chapel. The groomsmen and bridesmaids flanked the bride and groom, their laughter floating on the early evening air as they nudged and jostled each other like the first years they had once been. Even the normally stoic potions master seemed to enjoy the camaraderie, his bride's hand nestled firmly in the crook of his arm.

_That could have been you, you know_.

"Shut up," he hissed then gulped the remaining liquid in his glass. He bloody well knew it could have been him. He didn't need that infernal voice in his head reminding him every five minutes. But what he did need was to find a way to reverse the anti-alcohol charm on his next round of the bubbly. Or else someone might not survive the night. And, given the green-eyed monster rising slowly in his stomach, he wasn't so sure that someone would be him.


	10. With A Little Help From His Friends

CHAPTER TEN

With A Little Help From His Friends

"Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!"

The chant, started before Sir Nicholas' announcement faded on the late spring breeze, caught as quickly as dry grass in the heat of a wildfire. Ignited by the freedom offered by tomorrow's departure from Hogwarts for the summer and fueled by the delight of possibly causing a feared professor just a hint of discomfort, it flamed higher and higher until it threatened to consume the very silence of the universe.

"Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!"

The bridesmaids and groomsmen added their voices to the call. Each grinning and laughing as Snape's dark glare descended on each of them by turn.

"Oh go on, mate." George's voice somehow carried above the tumult. "You know you want to."

After Fred's death, Ron feared his brother developing a death wish. Now it was a reality. He slipped his hand into his pocket and caught the hilt of his wand. For if the potions master didn't hex the man six ways to Sunday, he surely would. It was one thing for the blasted students to incite such foolishness but for his own brother... The bloody bastard knew how uncomfortable he was with this whole situation. He'd been there the night -

"You know, Mr. Weasley." The familiar rich baritone held a note of amusement he wasn't sure he'd ever noticed before. "For the first time since I can remember, you may actually be right."

Without further notice, Snape pulled Hermione into his arms. For less than a moment, his eyes searched hers. His answer came in a small smirk and simultaneous movement that would leave everyone questioning who actually kissed who. But there was no questioning the passion. Or the immense love.

Ron's fingers twitched then tightened around the wooden extension of his hand. After all, wasn't the best way to survive to attack first? He slipped his wand toward the top of his pocket. First George so there was no chance of merciless teasing. Then the groom. With the dungeon bat gone, then the hot jealousy in the pit of his stomach wouldn't eat him alive. It would disappear in the same puff of destruction as his rival. Then Hermione would come to her senses and -

"I wouldn't do that it I were you."

The unexpected voice was so close to his shoulder made he flinched. The wood fell from his fingers as he pulled his hand up and out into the warm evening air, He turned slowly, the burn of his friend's gaze moving from his neck to his cheek then finally to his eyes. The green orbs were narrowed and cautious but compassionate.

"Bloody hell, Harry. What are you trying to do? Put me out of my misery with a heart attack?" He took a step back, giving himself both breathing room and space to react should the encounter turn as sour as some of the more recent ones had. "You've been spending way too much time around those bloody Slytherins."

"Wouldn't do you any harm to spend a little time around them, Ron." His boyhood mate crossed his arms in an almost mirror image of their former professor. "You might find them more Gryffindor than yourself at the moment."

Anger clenched his jaw painfully. His hand twitched, but something in Harry's gaze kept it from going anywhere near his robes. "More Gryffindor? How could those blasted snakes be more Gryffindor than -"

"I don't see one of them threatening to attack his brother or hex a perceived rival when his back is turned." The defender of the wizarding world moved closer, his voice calm and controlled. "I don't see one of them refusing to give one of us a second chance. What are you afraid of, Ron?"

"Afraid of?" He wanted to laugh. Wanted to scoff at the very idea. But he couldn't. Not with the lump lodged in his throat. "Afraid of losing the woman I've loved since I was twelve years old. Afraid of losing my best friend to the same man because of some false sense of obligation? Afraid -"

He couldn't finish. He'd already said more than he ever intended to say. Turning, he started to walk away. Flee to the nearest apparation point and -

The grip on his shoulder was firm but gentle. "Ron, you haven't lost anything and you know it. In fact, if you let yourself, you just might find you've gained a great ally if not a good friend. Severus -"

"Has changed." He gritted his teeth and tried to swallow the bitterness brewed by the endless reminders of what a good man Severus Snape had become. "I know."

Harry sighed. "No, Ron. He hasn't changed. He's just been freed to be who he has always been." He increased the pressure of his fingers until Ron knew he had no choice but to turn and face him again. "He's a good man, Ron. And he loves Hermione the way she deserves to be loved. You and I both know that." He offered a small, understanding smile. "I think if you could see beyond that green haze you've been looking through for months, you might just realize they are truly meant to be. Surely you can't begrudge them that."

Of course he couldn't. Harry was right. They were all right. One can't fight against fate. And he was so tired of fighting. "You're a good friend, Harry."

"In deed he is, Mr. Weasley."

Dread sunk like a millstone in his stomach. Nearly doubled him over when it hit bottom. He stumbled in his haste to face his rival, but a firm grip on his elbow kept him upright. "P-P-Professor."

"Not for some years, Mr. Weasley." Was that a smile the man offered? "It's Severus. Or Snape. Or the bloody dungeon bat. Whatever your preference."

Harry chuckled. But Ron could only stare, stunned beyond speech at the teasing tone painting the man's words.

"If you will indulge a man who has indeed stood in your shoes, allow me to offer you advice I wish I had taken." Obsidian eyes filled with compassion and touched Ron's soul. "Don't let this devour you, son. Let go of first love and start looking for the last. In the whole scheme of things, that is the only one that counts." He bowed slightly. "Now it you will excuse me, I believe there is a cake to cut and a meal to eat."

Ron watched the man make his way toward his bride. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. She smiled softly and touched his cheek. For the first time in months, Ron's heart didn't ache at the sight. Perhaps Snape and Harry were right. Perhaps it was time to let go.

"All right there Ron?"

He glanced at his friend and nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."

Harry smiled. "Good." He started toward the group meandering toward the tent then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "You coming?"

For a moment, he felt like a first year again. Felt like a little food and the company of good friends could fix anything. And maybe, just maybe it could.

Scanning the crowd, he noticed a flash of brown hair, slightly darker and wilder than his first love's. A muggle cousin, perhaps. Or a look-a-like witch. Did it really matter? Not that he was looking for a replacement for the woman who was and would be his friend. But one had to start the look for last love somewhere didn't he?

Or at least that's what he'd realized.

Thanks to a little help from his friends.

_Finite Incantatem_

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><p><em><em>**A/N: **_I hope you have enjoyed this little tale. My everlasting thanks for taking the time to read. And for those who review...my utmost gratitude. I hope you will join me in more HG/SS adventures...including my other current on, Vanity, Thy Name Is Death._

**Final Disclaimer: **_Returned safe and sound to their owner, JK Rowling in hopes I can take them out and play with them again __  
><em>


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